


oh, a storm is threat'ning my very life today

by gwmclintock88



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwmclintock88/pseuds/gwmclintock88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solo fought in a war. Hell, he fought in several. What made anyone think he'd be up for fighting aliens?</p>
<p>Apparently, they knew him well - They sent a redhead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, a storm is threat'ning my very life today

**Author's Note:**

> This crept into my mind, and I just thought well....why not?

            Solo cracked open his eyes. He’d been enjoying his twentieth year of retirement, only for these guys to show up on his doorstep. Well, guys would inaccurate – there was only one of them and she wasn’t a he, and doorstep was inaccurate as well since he was lying in the middle of a beach, enjoying the sun and the scenery. The redhead was a nice touch though, and she certainly filled out that bikini perfectly. It was a shame that she was here for him. “Honestly, I expected you to show up sooner.”

            “You heard me arrive?” He gave the redhead a look over the frames of his sunglasses. A small scar just above her waistline did nothing to detract from the curves she wore so well.

            “Like you weren’t giving me the courtesy of telegraphing your moves.” This earned him a half-hearted shrug before the redhead sat next to him on another lounge chair. “I’m retired.”

            “No you’re not,” she said. Okay, that wasn’t common knowledge but the redhead did work for what was the premier spy agency. Or had been. Really, it was too much to deal without a good glass of scotch or maybe bourbon.

            “From SHIELD, or whatever the hell you’re calling it now, I am.” He’d read about it in the papers, and then tossed it aside. If anyone wanted to find out about him, they’d just have to check the rest of the web. Besides, it’d been a long time since any of those aliases were even active.

            “We could use your help,” she said, leaning forward to offer a wonderful vision of beauty.

            “I’m sure you have plenty of use for an art thief,” he scoffed, but not before glancing down. He may have matured a little, but an attractive woman was still an attractive woman. “Now, this conversations is going nowhere, and I have a meeting to prepare for.”  He stopped a few steps later and turned back to see her staring at him. She tilted her head, staring at him as if deciphering something. Biting back the comment her still telegraphing, he turned back around and continue walking away.

            Solo left her on the beach and headed back to his hotel room. He would need to check for bugs, which now seemed to come in every shape and size imaginable, as well as prepare to leave. His meeting was legitimate, but if they found him here, he wouldn’t risk the sale. Fool him once, shame on him.

            When SHIELD co-opted U.N.C.L.E., Solo hadn’t been impressed with their methods, no matter what Carter tried to sell him. He knew the game, been playing it longer than most, with exception to her, but then again, she ‘rode’ with Captain America himself. By then, he wasn’t a spring chicken and the games were changing faster than anyone liked. Whispers of a Winter Soldier and red rooms flitted across the boards as Russia moved further to isolate itself from the rest of the world. So, he was given a choice: one last assignment and retirement or continue to work for them for another five years (long leash held by a short man never felt more accurate at that moment). He figured one last one for the road, and took the assignment.

            It turns out, that the assignment required he go through some scientific testing that they never quite explained to him. After being administered the shot, knocked out, and then waking up three weeks later, it finally was explained to him that they were testing a new strain of the Super Soldier serum except it didn’t quite work right.

            Instead of super strength, enhanced speed, and being generally enhanced, Solo only got a mild cold, or what seemed like a mild cold at the time. The scientist who experimented on him got shot for treason and pushed off a short plank. He offered to kiss Carter when he heard that, except that wasn’t the end of it.

            It also turns out that the serum worked to a point: He received some elevated healing which reduced his age by quite a bit. Instead of being closer to fifty years spry, he felt like he was back in his mid-twenties. That had been all fun and games until the truth hit him hard.

            Flash-forward another twenty years and he finally got his walking papers. He left them like a bad habit and swore he wouldn’t look back. Peril and Gabby long were retired and dead, and he was left with a war that wasn’t there, a fight that wasn’t his, and nothing to show for it other than a list of women and betrayals longer than his arm. At least now he could enjoy retirement. Or he did until someone came a knocking.

            After getting back to his room and showering, Solo almost wasn’t surprised to see the redhead again – unfortunately, dressed, but he doubted she wore anything badly.  “We really do need to talk Mister Solo.”

            “Please,” he said, waving off her statement. He gripped the towel around his hips and watched her eyes look him up and down. She stared at him with eyes he hadn’t seen since last saying goodbye to Peril. “I’ve been in arguments with Russians ten-times more frightening that you.” That got her to stop, and the pretty façade fell away to reveal a bit of anger in those eyes. “What? Where you hiding that you used to fight for the Communists? Or just that no one has called you on playing the candle at both ends?”

            “You would have experience with that, wouldn’t you?” He shrugged his shoulders.

            “Never said I was an angel, and it seemed only fair that I should receive something out of it,” he said. No mention of his current plans, meaning they likely set this up. He’d be upset if he hadn’t expected it: SHIELD never knew when to let something go, and it seems like that only got worse as the years went by. He headed over to his bag, removing a set of clothes. “So, how long has this meeting of mine been planned?”

            “Since we located you,” the redhead answered. He glanced back over his shoulder as he removed a set of boxers.

            “Had bigger fish to fry?” He thought of Sorkova, and the machines that nearly destroyed it, most of Europe and probably the world.

            “Something like that.”

            “Then why you and not your director?” Spy organizations never died: They crawled off into corners and festered under resentment until they could be useful again.  At least this comment did trip up the pretty little red-head.

            Wisely, she chose not to comment again. She remained silent, watching him as he let the towel fall. He puttered around with his clothes a bit, giving her a good view of his assets before getting dressed. Again, she said nothing, but Solo caught the slight widening of her eyes in the mirror. He continued to dress without glancing at her, only turning around as he buttoned up his shirt.

            “Does this have anything to do with aliens, because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be able to pay me enough to deal with them,” Solo said. “And well, there’s no sense in blackmailing me anymore.”

            “That was never my intention,” the woman said. Solo nodded, not in approval, but in the tactful dodge.  He grabbed the jacket from the hanger, slipping in on over his shoulders before buttoning it up.

            The woman wore a clinging black dress, her red hair up in a bun with a few cascading curls escaping from it. There were at least two firearms on her body, along with maybe a dozen other items to incapacitate a man. And knives. He couldn’t forget about the knives, or the high heels she wore that doubled as excellent piercing apparata. She conservatively moved, calculating each step and action she took to combat his own. A spy trained from birth it seems. Wasn’t too many of those any more.

            “Definitely Russian,” Solo finally said as she made her way to his side. Her steps nearly faltered, and had he not experience on his side, he would have missed it. Still, a pleasant feeling echoed inside of him as the old dog caught the young cat off guard. “So, dinner and then you tell me what this whole charade is about?”

            “What makes you think I’m here to take you out for dinner?” She countered with another question. Solo held back his sigh; the problem with young spies is they never knew when to relax. Well, most spies had that problem, which led almost all of them to an uncomfortable grave.

            “Miss…Natalia,” he started, catching her eyes widening a little again before the mask of indifference fell, “may I call you that? If you set up this meeting with the intention of asking me some very pointed questions, you wouldn’t be dressed up as wonderfully as you are. No, you want to follow me, and I must admit that having you on my arm tonight would be a wonderful distraction.”

            She rolled her eyes at the compliment. “Are you willing to listen?”

            “Last time I listen to an offer about a Russian, we ended up fighting in a bathroom,” Solo said, offering his arm to her. “But I’m never one an opportunity slip by.”

            “No, you aren’t,” she said, sending him a smirk.

            Well, this evening certainly was turning out more interesting than he planned. At very least he’d be getting rare Prussian antiquity out of it, though he wondered what Natalia would. Solo held the door for the redhead, taking the opportunity to further stare at her. Never let it be said Napeolon Solo wasn’t a gentleman.

            He was, but he also knew when to hold onto an advantage. And with her calculating eyes, he knew that advantage could easily slip through his fingers. At least he would enjoy it before it did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from 'Gimme Shelter' by the Rolling Stones. I own nothing.


End file.
